Older Now
by Alix Desavis
Summary: Lemme know if it's too long! Six years after their 7th year. Pretty much, random stuff that happens to them after they graduate. Find out what they all do for a living, the first three paragraphs should give you a pretty good idea. Please read and review!


**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**

**Rated M: Coarse Language, Mature Themes**

**This story was written _before_ the publishing of _Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows_. Any inconsistencies with the outcome of the series are my fault, and sucks for you if you have a problem with it.**

**Also, this was about 18 and a half pages long on Word, so if you think it's too long for one chapter, please let me know and I will split it up.**

**I'm not "shipping" any of these couples (except Ron and Hermione, because it's so frickin' obvious), they just sort of happened. Don't get all freaked out just because certain girl is dating certain boy. **

**If Harry Potter _did _belong to me, I'd be rich and I wouldn't be writing for FanFiction.**

Harry Potter awoke one morning with a headache. It was the day after his 23rd birthday, and his roommate, Ron, had thrown him quite a party. They were living together in a flat in London, where Ron worked from home as a real estate agent on magical properties. His most recent sale had been to a certain Neville Longbottom, who had come into quite a bit of money and purchased a large field that was home to a colony of Nifflers, on which he planned to build a summer home. Harry was working for the Department of Mysteries, where all he did was sit in his chair all day, squeezing a beanbag and making sexually suggestive comments about his female coworkers.

Hermione had become a Healer at St Mungo's, where she had been charged twice for malpractice when she had attempted to give patients Advil instead of a more magical painkiller. Draco Malfoy was working in the back of the apothecary in Diagon Alley, where he spent eight hours a day chopping dragon dung into perfect squares. Crabbe and Goyle had come out together the year after their graduation and were living together in Glasgow. Dean Thomas had paired off with Luna Lovegood and together were raising a child with an amazing artistic ability for drawing things that didn't exist. Parvati Patil lived with eight cats in a cottage on the edge of an unknown lake somewhere in Spain, while Padma Patil was the youngest and first ever female Minister for Magic. Lavender Brown and Seamus Finnigan were in a rather rocky marriage, touring around the United Kingdom in a bus. Rita Skeeter had died, in what was clearly an assassination, but nobody cared enough to investigate, though there was serious speculation that it may have been her own mother that committed the crime. Dolores Umbridge had gotten over her fear of half-breeds, but the half-breeds had never really gotten over her and they had stormed her home one night and slaughtered her, her family and all those she loved. Again, nobody really cared enough to put these centaurs on trial.

Cho Chang was the proprietor of a widely known gentleman's club called Cho's Ho's, which she had wasted no time establishing in the summer of her graduation. Percy Weasley had been sacked as the Minister's assistant, and was now living in the streets, too proud to come home and ask his parents for financial help. The Weasley family was doing much better now, since Fred and George were making such a killing in their shop, and Ron was so successful. Arthur Weasley had gotten a promotion and was now working in the Muggle Relations Office, where he got to interact with real Muggles. Viktor Krum was dead; he had been killed by an angry fan after losing a match. The fan was now in Azkaban, along with Pansy Parkinson (for using the Imperius Curse on her peers at Hogwarts to make them actually like her), Ernie Macmillan (for making magical rave drugs and selling them during Hogsmeade weekends), Lee Jordan (for stalking Angelina Johnson), Oliver Wood (he was arrested during a Quidditch match after authorities had found a plan to murder the opposite team's Seeker) and Colin Creevey (for setting up a website filled with pictures of Harry naked, or sleeping, or both). Snape was killed by Voldemort because he got sick of looking at Snape's ugly mug, and Lucius Malfoy dropped off the face of the Earth into Shitsville, where he belongs.

Lord Voldemort was still out there, but he appeared to be lying low, except when he was featured on an episode of _Cribs_.

Harry got out of bed and lumbered over to his en-suite bathroom. His job as an Unspeakable earned him quite a decent wage, and pooled with Ron's impressive reputation as a realtor, they were able to afford a pretty nice place. Harry made his way into the kitchen, where Ron had a frying pan flipping its own eggs whilst he sat at the table reading the _Daily Prophet_, wearing only his boxer shorts. He raised his coffee cup to greet Harry, never taking his eyes off the page.

"Ron," said Harry, and Ron did eventually look up.

"What?"

"I thought we had the pants talk." Ron put down the paper, grumbling about 'Harry's fucking pants rule' as he went off down the hall to put on some jeans. Harry held his wand over an empty mug and watched thick black coffee that looked more like mud pour from the tip, all the while looking at it disgustedly. He'd never really gotten the hang of the charm, and he hastily switched mugs with Ron before he returned, fully clothed.

"Did you see Luna's piece?" asked Ron, resuming his seat, not noticing that he no longer possessed his own mug. Harry shook his head. Luna wrote weekly for the _Daily Prophet_ about various conspiracies within the Ministry. "She's on about Kingsley Shacklebolt again. About how he's an Anubis revived by the Egyptian gods." Harry snorted into his (or Ron's) coffee mug. For the past three weeks, Luna had been trying to convince the wizarding population that the respected Auror was not what everyone thought he was. It was better than when she had been trying to convince everyone that Harry was a double-agent for Voldemort, during which time Harry had a hard time at work, what with not being allowed to do any in case Luna's accusations were true. Thankfully, she had lost interest in that story and moved on to insisting that magic was a figment of the imagination and the whole _Daily Prophet _ was a waste of time.

"What's Ginny up to this weekend?" Harry asked, trying to be as cool about it as possible, because he insisted to Ron that he didn't have feelings for Ginny anymore, even though they both knew he was lying. Ginny had not yet decided on a career; instead, she was touring Great Britain and observing magical creatures. Ron shrugged.

"I think she's staying with Fred and George for a week."

"Oh," said Harry. There was a long pause. "Shall we go visit, then?" Ron looked up once more.

"And Hermione?" said Ron. Harry nodded. It sounded like a good idea to him.

* * *

Three days later, Harry, Ron and Hermione met up in the Leaky Cauldron. They came upon Hermione at the bar, clutching a glass of Extra-Strength Firewhiskey. 

"All right, Hermione?" said Harry as they each took a seat beside her.

"You have no idea what my week's been like," she moaned, draining her glass. "A family of eight – eight people! - thought it might be fun to buy a half dozen Blast-Ended Skrewts. Well… well, all I have to say is that there was no room in the Burn Section for the woman whose hair had turned to flame." But that was _not_ all she had to say, because the whole walk down to _Weasley's Wizard Wheezes_ was filled with commentary about pus and blood. Finally, Ron had had enough.

"Hermione," he said plainly. "Shut the fuck up." She looked quite taken aback, but took his advice and silently entered the shop.

"FUCKIN' HELL!" said Fred as the trio walked in. "What do you want, Hermione? Six days in a row, she's come in here, poking about." Hermione flushed.

"I want to buy something for my nephew," she insisted.

"YOU DON'T HAVE A NEPHEW!" came George's voice from the back room. He appeared a moment later in the doorway. "Hermione, you don't have any _siblings!_" Hermione acted as though she had not heard him and chose to browse very purposefully. Fred seemed to come to his senses and greeted Harry and Ron.

"Ginny around?" asked Ron. George turned and called up the stairs.

"GINNY, DOWN HERE!" Footsteps could be heard running down the stairs, and in moments Ginny Weasley appeared in the doorway to the back room.

She was beautiful, with dark red hair and a short, straight nose that was lightly sprinkled with freckles. She still had a girlish physique, though in Harry's opinion, she had grown up very well. She was wearing a short jade green trench-coat with a white camisole underneath and faded blue jeans that fit tightly around her waist, with a red and white spotted scarf slipped through the belt loops, and a pair of light tan boots. Harry had to sit down in a hard chair that immediately broke and he tumbled to the ground. Fred beamed.

"Just came out with those ones. Get up, Harry, and watch." Harry stood and looked back at the chair in pieces on the ground. As soon as he was up again the legs zoomed back together, and the chair was standing again, just like new. Fred and George gave each other an enthusiastic high-five.

"Some people will try it over and over, not even realizing that it's actually _designed_ to break," said George.

"One witch returned hers and demanded a new one, because she said the one she got was faulty," added Fred. "She said it kept falling apart!" The twins broke into peals of laughter. Ron was still staring at Ginny in disbelief.

"Where do you think you're going, dressed like that?" he said. Ginny rolled her eyes and looked daggers at him.

"I'm going to visit a friend," she said coolly. "In London." Ron raised an eyebrow and looked sideways at Harry.

"Ginny, I thought your corner was in Hogsmeade?" said Fred conversationally. A moment later, Fred was unable to speak due to the fact that he now had a rather large gnome's head stuck to the roof of his mouth, and the rest of the gnome had begun to dance on his tongue. Ginny put her wand back in the pocket of her coat and strode toward the door.

"I'll be back for dinner," she said. "Hope you get that sorted out in time, Fred. 'Bye, Harry," she added as the door swung shut behind her. George was pulling on Fred's gnome, but he still managed to participate in the conversation.

"You'll stay for dinner, too, I hope," he said, tugging on the struggling gnome. "I don't know how much more of Ginny we can take. It's only been two days and I already can't wait for her to go."

"Why is that?" asked Hermione, sucking on a sugar quill from the display cabinet.

"Sheez eeln a ohhge ish laylie," said Fred. There was a moment of silence when everyone stared. Even the muddy gnome stopped struggling and stared in confusion at Fred's top lip, before beginning its dance once more.

"She's changed, ever since she dated that… that _guy_ from New York," said George. Harry looked up, the green monster in his chest sniffing around again. It came upon a bit of toast Harry had had for breakfast and settled down. Ron nodded.

"That Rick bloke," he said. "He was such a tool. What did her get her for her birthday, again?" He turned to Harry and Hermione.

"A corned beef sandwich," said Hermione. "From some deli in Brooklyn." There was a lot of head shaking and _tut-_ing, while Fred had a small fist-fight with his mouth-friend. Finally, Hermione gave a great big "Oh, for goodness sake" and relieved Fred of the gnome, which scuttled off into a corner and began wreaking havoc and terror among the resident ants.

"Thing is," said Fred, "she's been running off to London quite frequently these days. To visit her _friend_."

"We're under the impression," added George, "that this _friend_ is not actually a _friend_, but more like a- "

"A _boy_friend," said Fred. Harry's green monster spat out the bit of toast in surprise.

"I tell you," said Ron, shaking his head. They were upstairs in the twins' kitchen, helping to prepare dinner. "She's too popular for her own good. She's going to get hurt one day, with all these men she runs around with."

"Yeah," agreed Harry, furiously chopping celery. "She should just pick one and settle down." Hermione looked at him and raised an eyebrow. "What?" he said.

"Nothing," she responded, and continued conducting her wand to stir a lovely French sauce she had made.

"So, Hermione," said Ron. "Why _have_ you been popping into the shop every day?" Hermione stopped stirring and looked thoughtful, as if she was trying to decide how to answer the question.

"Fred," she said simply. Harry and Ron looked confused, so she expanded her response. "Well, I just mean… well, he's very cute isn't he?" Harry and Ron just stared at her.

"He looks exactly the same as George," said Harry.

"Well, yes, I suppose, but George isn't quite as… charming. And besides, George has Katie." It was well-known among all former Gryffindors that George Weasley and Katie Bell had been secretly dating since their fourth year. But nobody had told Katie or George they knew, so it remained a secret.

"Fred's not charming, he's a fucking git," stated Ron. "He makes candies that make people vomit. If you think that's charming, you're a fuck-up too."

"Thank you, Ronald, for that sentiment. If you'll excuse me, I'll just go and set the table. _Accio plates._" Six plates zoomed into Hermione's hands and she turned on her heel and stalked into the dining room. Ron turned back to the chicken he was cutting and began angrily tearing it to pieces. Of course, our amazing all-knowing hero Harry had no idea what this meant.

As Ginny had said, she was back just as everyone was sitting down to dinner. Her hair was windblown and a heel on her boot had broken off, but she was in an exceptional mood and was chatting happily all through dinner, before announcing that she had to go to bed.

"You see what I mean?" said Fred, as George handed him a glass of brandy. They were all in the sitting room having a night cap before Harry, Ron and Hermione went back to their homes. "She's a nightmare these days."

"She's just happy," said Hermione, taking a sip of her drink. "And she probably hasn't told you she's seeing someone because she knows you'll – "

"Yes, Hermione, thank you," said Harry. "We all had enough of your girl advice at school, thanks, and it didn't help any, by the way, since Cho turned out to be a dirty street whore anyways, and Lavender was just a sexually frustrated sixteen-year-old, and as soon as Ron chucked her, she ran off and did the nasty with Seamus. So shut up." Hermione indignantly sat back in her chair and downed the rest of her drink in one gulp.

"Well then," she said angrily, "I have an _actual _job that I'm due at tomorrow morning, so I will see you later. Maybe." And she stormed down the stairs and out the door. They watched her walk out the door through a window that overlooked Diagon Alley, and watched as she disappeared down the road.

"Way to go, Harry," said George. "Real nice. You're obviously a ladies' man, I can tell."

"What does she mean, she's got a real job?" said Ron. "We've got real jobs, don't we? I sell properties, for fuck's sake, and you, Harry, you work in the fucking Department of fucking Mysteries! You're a fucking Unspeakable, GOD FUCKING DAMN IT!" He slammed his fist onto the coffee table.

"Dude, calm down," said Fred. Ron looked surprised at his own actions, and spent the rest of the evening quietly sipping his drink, listening to the conversation.

"Thing is," said Fred, "Mum's getting a bit worried about George and I."

"Reckons we aren't ever going to settle down."

"Find a nice girl."

"Get married."

"Have kids."

"But we will," said George. "We're working on it. I've got a girl in mind, even."

"Katie Bell," said Fred. George looked at him, flabbergasted.

"How'd you know?"

"Oh, come off it, George, everyone knows. Even Mum."

"Oh," said George, and his ears went slightly pink. "Just you then, she's worried about."

"That's the one," said Fred, nodding. "But I'm not really sure marriage is for me, you know? I'm a grazer. I graze. I like it, being single in the big city. Watching all the girls, not just the one."

"He means _all _the girls. Sometimes two or three at a time," said George.

"So you're not interested in… say… Hermione?" said Ron.

"Hey, don't get me wrong, she'd do," said Fred with a wink. "She's one fine piece of – "

"But say, she were to like you, too," said Ron.

"Not that she does, but as an example," added Harry hastily, for he too was interested. Fred shrugged.

"I don't think so. But whatever, right? I figure Mum just wants a bunch of grandkids. And she's already got two from Bill and one from Charlie… " Charlie had met a gypsy in Romania. He had gone into her shop and accidentally touched her hand. She then looked up and told him she was now carrying his child. They were forced into marriage for the sake of their baby.

"I doubt Percy's ever spoken to a girl – " said George.

"Except Penelope thing - "

"But that doesn't count, because she was on those drugs Ernie Macmillan was selling." There was a silence. Harry and Ron had sampled these drugs in their fifth year (the things the books don't tell you, eh?) and it resulted in what could be described as an awkward moment the next morning. They had agreed never to discuss it again.

* * *

"Hello, Mr Potter." 

"Hi, Penny."

"Good morning, Mr Potter."

"Morning, Rosa."

"Hiya, Mr Potter!"

"Hiya back, Trixie." Harry finally made it to his office in the Department of Mysteries, where there was a note waiting for him in his inbox.

_From the desk of The Dark Lord_

_You're a shithead._

_Love, Voldemort_

Harry put the note in the filing cabinet marked 'Voldie-Notes' and sat down at his desk. He received these love notes from Lord Voldemort almost twice weekly, and it was simply a lack of interest that Harry didn't send them down to the Auror office, because they were so easily traceable that even Pigwidgeon (who had eventually been eaten by a Jack Russell terrier) could find where Voldemort was hiding.

"Morning, Harry," said Michael Corner, who had become an Unspeakable after graduation, and had also gotten quite fat.

"Peace," said Harry and gave Michael props as he walked past Harry to his own desk. It was not known to people in the wizarding world that Unspeakables were only Unspeakable because really they had no job. It was a waste of the taxpayers money, and only the most incompetent people worked there because they had nowhere else to work. The wages were very high and there was no work to be done except send hate mail to Death Eaters and ask the Aurors for information on their whereabouts in case one had to appear knowledgeable. Harry quite liked it. And so, Harry began a long, hard day of doodling.

When he got home, with lipstick on his collar because Trixie had been very excited to say goodbye, he found Ron talking into the fire, where Draco Malfoy's head was floating.

"I really don't see the problem," Malfoy was saying. "I'm willing to pay whatever you ask for, I just need a discreet property."

"Oh," said Ron, as though thinking about Malfoy's proposition. "Well, the problem is, you're a fucking dirtbag and you deserve to die. So, I just don't see how I can help you. Sorry." And with that, he put his foot on Malfoy's face and kicked him out of view.

"Hard day?" said Harry, setting his briefcase (which he kept full of Archie comics so that it looked like he was bringing work back and forth from home) on the floor beside the front door. Ron smirked.

"He says he needs a place to keep things that shouldn't be seen. I suggested up his asshole, but he seemed to want _land_." As they were laughing, the telephone Mr Weasley had given Ron for Christmas rang. Since Ron was still learning how to use it, Harry was the only one allowed to answer. He picked it up and said in a thick Russian accent,

"Hello."

"Oh my goodness, Harry! I didn't know if you'd be home by now and I know Ron's not allowed to use the phone, but your fireplace was busy, and I didn't know –"

"Hermione, what is it?" said Harry.

"It's Hermione?" said Ron from the couch. He came over to the phone and took the receiver from Harry. He held it straight out in front of him and shouted into the mouthpiece, "HI, HERMIONE!"

"Hi, Ron," came Hermione's voice through the earpiece.

"I'M ON THE PHONE!"

"Good for you, Ron. You're doing very well. Can I talk to Harry?"

"YEAH, HANG ON A SECOND! I'LL GET HIM, SINCE HE PROBABLY CAN'T HEAR YOU BECAUSE YOU'RE TOO FAR AWAY, AND HE DOESN'T HAVE THE PHONE." Ron turned to Harry and handed him the phone. "It's Hermione. She wants to talk to you."

"Thanks, Ron," said Harry. He took the phone back and said hello to Hermione again.

"He's really improving isn't he?" she said. "Well, my phone didn't catch fire this time anyway."

"Neither did ours," said Harry. It was a first. "So what did you need?"

"Oh, I just wanted to talk."

So Harry hung up and walked into the kitchen where Ron was listening to 'Dancing Queen' and frying onions.

"…Only seventeen…" Ron sang along, as he often did.

"What are you making?" asked Harry. It was a risky business, letting Ron cook, because he could make exceptional dishes, but he also had a tendency to burn sauces, overcook vegetables, and kill small animals while he was in the kitchen. It was a sad situation, because Harry was hopeless and wasn't allowed to touch fire, so Ron and The Lucky Gold Dragon Chinese Emporium were the only chefs in the Potter-Weasley household.

"Filet mignon."

"Oh." Harry stood and waited for Ron to expand his ideas. When he didn't, Harry felt compelled to ask, "Why?"

"'Cause Fred's not ever getting married. Not even to Hermione."

"Is that… is that a reason to celebrate?" Ron spun around.

"There's always a reason for expensive meat. Now go set the table." Harry marveled at how much Ron sounded like his mother as he placed two chipped plastic plates on the table. Ron emerged from the kitchen and stared horrified at the job Harry at done.

"No, no, no, Harry! The good china! And use knives!" He bustled back into the kitchen wearing his frilly _Kiss the Cook_ apron.

"Ron?" called Harry.

"What?" he snapped.

"Are you on the turn?" Ron appeared in the archway between the kitchen and dining room with a bit of parsley stuck to his cheek.

"Harry, what the fuck is that supposed to mean? Just set the goddamn table, will you? For three." And he disappeared again. Harry didn't ask who the third person was, he was too afraid of what Ron might do to him if he didn't follow instructions. He set the table with Ron's Great Aunt Muriel's best dishes and silverware, lit candles, conjured flowers, a harp that played itself, and magically dimmed the lights before Ron came to inspect his work. Ron looked around and nodded curtly before he ran back to the kitchen to stop the gravy from solidifying. After about forty minutes of Ron's nagging and Harry almost being reduced to tears, the doorbell rang. Ron flung Harry out of the way, quickly filled the room with the scent of a perfectly cooked meal from his wand, and threw the door open to reveal Hermione standing in the hallway, a broken umbrella hanging limply at her side and her hair dripping. Ron beamed and pulled her into the hall.

"Welcome to our humble abode!" Hermione looked around.

"Ron, I've been here about fifty million times." She scrunched up her face. "What is that _smell?_" Ron led her into the dining room, where he had instructed a bewildered Harry to wait for them. Hermione smiled weakly at him before Ron pushed her into the seat opposite him.

"Now!" said Ron, clapping his hands together. "Eat, drink and be merry!" He went into the kitchen to fetch the food. Hermione looked at Harry across the table.

"Any idea what this is about?" she asked. Harry shrugged. Ron returned, extremely excited with himself, holding a dish that looked like piles of meat with bacon pinned at random points of it. He set it down and pulled a bit of meat onto each of their plates, followed by his own.

"Well," he said excitedly. "Dig in!"

* * *

"D'you think she'll be okay?" said Ron after Hermione had gone home with a painful stomach ache. Harry nodded, his mouth full of the Pepto Potion he'd just whipped up. Ron looked worried. His evening had not gone exactly as planned. After he'd brought out the food, Ron attempted to pour some wine, but Pighead (Harry and Ron's owl) had chosen that very second to squawk loudly, because he was a mischievous owl who simply hated Harry and Ron to death. Ron's hand slipped and sent the bottle crashing through the window and into the street where it knocked down an old couple out shopping. When he'd retrieved another bottle, he'd insisted that they toast to their health, except Harry sneezed mid-word and accidentally said an incantation that made the potatoes explode. After Hermione had magicked the mess away, they decided to conjure their own wine and that was done. So they began the meal and things were going smoothly, despite the lack of potatoes and asparagus that had gotten the worst of the blast. Then Harry and Hermione got in an argument over house-elves (she had abandoned S.P.E.W. but was still an advocate, and had added a secret magical creatures section to the P.E.T.A. website that was only accessible to magic folk) and Ron began to cry. Through his tears he vanished what was left of the meal and brought out a rather wet chocolate cake with the words 'Ron Pwnz' on the top in green icing. Hermione also burst into tears and screamed 'Fuck you Ron, I'm on a diet'. Harry sat in his chair bewildered as he watched his two best friends crying and yelling at each other before Hermione went home. Ron then brought out a two-pint tub of ice cream and began to eat from it while he watched _Gilmore Girls_. 

"So you really think she's okay, right?" said Ron for the fourth time that night. "I mean, I just don't want her to hate me or anything." Harry looked up from his book and forced back a rude comment.

"Ron, of course she doesn't hate you. She's always hated you a little, but this won't make matters worse, I promise." Ron seemed thoroughly relieved by this and shortly announced that he was going to bed.

That very same weekend was the weekend that all Hogwarts students were getting their booklists. It was also the weekend Ginny had no place to stay, and Harry hastily offered up his and Ron's apartment. It was _also_ the weekend Ron lost a bet and along with it, he lost half of his savings. It was not what one might call a 'good weekend'.

Come Thursday evening, Ginny arrived with three bags full of luggage. Ron, who had gotten the heaviest of the three to carry into the guest room and insisted he had to go to St Mungo's for treatment (for those of you who aren't much smarter than Harry, Ron was actually just going to see Hermione, even if he had to fake a hernia to do it) while Harry helped Ginny settle in. Over a dinner of McDonald's and root beer, they gazed lovingly into each other's eyes. Well, Harry did, anyway. Ginny seemed to be eating as fast as she could.

"What's the hurry?" asked Harry after she finished her fries in forty seconds flat.

"Going to meet someone," she said, her mouth full of Big Mac. One would have thought that nobody could find this attractive, but apparently Harry is turned on by Ginny the Butch.

"Oh…" he said. "Who?" Ginny shrugged.

"A friend. See you tomorrow, Harry, I won't be back till late. G'night." She kissed him on the cheek and dashed out the door. The next scene includes Harry sitting alone at a table full of garbage, his mouth hanging open and rubbing his cheek. Bizarre, no? Well, that's what Hermione thought when she flung open the door and saw Harry there.

"Harry, what in God's name are you doing?" she asked breathlessly. Harry didn't look up or turn. Hermione plunked herself down in the seat Ginny had occupied.

"No, don't!" yelled Harry and Hermione stood up again in surprise. "You don't touch that godly chair, you filthy slut!" Hermione, of course, was in utter shock at Harry's reaction. She chose a different chair.

"Harry, Ron says he lost a lot of money."

"Well, yeah, he did, 'cause he's a dumb shit."

"Harry, he won't leave St Mungo's because he thinks he's really hurt."

"I know, too bad I'm too dumb to know why after all those hints in the books that practically screamed at me OMG HARRY, RON LIKES HERMIONE."

"Yeah, that is too bad. Anyway, St Mungo's can't throw him out, he's entitled to care. But Harry, _he can't afford it._" There was a moment of silence that was broken by Pighead doing the Charleston in his cage.

"Well that sucks," said Harry. Hermione nodded.

"What about you, Harry?" she said. "Could you pay for it? Do have any of your parents' money left or something?" Harry shook his head. He had spent the last of his parents' fortune they had left him on hookers and hash brownies when he and Ron had gone to Amsterdam one summer. Hermione looked dejected. They sat in silence for a moment before Hermione looked up at Harry excitedly.

"I have an idea!" she said.

"Me too!" said Harry. "We'll need a video camera, some fishnets, a lot of girls…"

"No, Harry, listen to me," she said. "Neville! He's a rich old bastard now, who still loves us for being his friends at school!" Harry looked thoughtful for a moment. It was frightening.

"Why don't we just tell Ron to get his fat ass out of bed and come home? I mean, this seems like a pretty weak plotline."

"Oh…" said Hermione, who also looked thoughtful for a moment. "Well, if we did that, we'd never get Neville into the story except for the introduction paragraph at the beginning. Come on!" she grabbed his hand and pulled him out the door.

"This reminds me of the time you got drunk at Seamus and Lavender's wedding and we had- "

"Shut up, Harry." When they reached street level, Hermione began to hail the Knight Bus, but Harry stopped her.

"I just ate, thanks," said Harry.

"Oh, you're right. It's far too bumpy, you'd get sick."

"No, Hermione, it's just that Stan Shunpike's face makes me want to puke." Yes, Stan was still the conductor of the Knight Bus and he still had terminal acne of the face. Hermione agreed and hailed a Muggle taxi. They slid into the back together.

"Where to?" said the taxi driver in a rough voice.

"The Haven," said Hermione. "It's on-"

"I know where _that_ is, miss," laughed the driver. "I wouldn't miss Friday Fun there for the world." Hermione grimaced at him. She had never been to The Haven, which was Neville's mansion out in the country, but Harry had, and he knew why the driver was laughing. Harry often liked to visit Neville on Friday nights as well, even if he never got to see Neville at all.

They pulled into the parking lot of The Haven, where a purple strobe light flashed through the windows and heavy bass music blasted out into the street. There was a neon sign that read in pink and purple: Welcome to The Haven.

"Neville _lives_ here?" shouted Hermione to Harry over the loud music as they climbed out of the cab. Harry nodded and touched his nose in the dorkiest possible way, indicating for Hermione to follow him. They walked up the garden path which was strewn with empty beer cans and cooler bottles, and entered the front door. A large man stood at the entrance.

"ID, please." They flashed their Apparition licenses. "That'll be nine Galleons each, please." Harry started digging through his pockets, but suddenly Neville appeared beside the bouncer and waved excitedly to Harry and Hermione. Neville had thinned out, gotten tall and handsome, but he still had a familiar roundness to his face. He was wearing a black silk shirt tucked into a pair of light wash jeans, and he wore black Converse sneakers.

"Don't worry about these two, Dennis, they're personal friends. Free of charge!" he said exuberantly, giving them each a bright green bracelet. "Now, I know Harry's been here, but you, Hermione! Why, I haven't seen you since the St Mungo's Charity Benefit I threw." He took her in a big bear hug and clapped Harry hard on the back before leading them through the beaded curtains.

There was barely room to move around for all the sweaty people dancing on the floor, and the bar was just as crowded, full of people wearing bright green bracelets. At the north side of the vast room, there was a stage full of girls in bright green bikinis dancing around on poles. Hermione looked utterly disgusted, while Harry wore an expression of sheer bliss.

"A drink?" said Neville over the pounding music as he led them to the bar. The barmaid, a tall, curvy brunette in a bright green silk robe, leaned over the bar and kissed Neville and Harry hard on the mouth before turning to Hermione.

"Well, hi there! What can I do for you?"

"I bet you can do a whole lot for me," said Harry. He received an elbow in the ribs from Hermione.

"I'll have a strawberry daiquiri," she said shortly.

"Piña colada for me," said Harry. Who'd have thought he'd be one for girly drinks, but there you are. The drinks appeared on the bar in a few seconds, and Hermione received a huge sparkling smile from the barmaid.

"Are these free of charge, Mr Longbottom?" she asked Neville, who nodded, smirking. The barmaid waved cutely at them as the three of them turned away and walked out the back door of the dance room. They were now in a lounge, which was just as loud from the music being filtered through the speakers. It was an empty room, but Harry knew from experience that the night was still young and the big purple couches in the room would fill up with couples as the bar sold more and more drinks.

"Up we go," said Neville as they entered a gold and marble elevator. There were four buttons on the elevator: Muggle, Magic, Office, and Home. Neville turned to them as the doors closed. "Well, that was the Muggle club. Any interest in seeing the magical portion of The Haven?" Harry nodded enthusiastically, but Hermione stood on his foot and said over his whimpers,

"I think we should just go up to your office." Neville shrugged and pressed the button marked 'Office'. The elevator lifted them up. Ice clinked in Hermione's drink. Harry had his straw hanging out the corner of his mouth and he was looking around the elevator, tapping his foot. The doors opened with a _ding_ and they stepped out of the elevator. They were not out for long before a screech and a blur jumped on Neville and started attacking him with her mouth. When the offending blur finally pulled away, it was Ginny Weasley's body that was clutched in Neville's arms. Harry's monster leapt out from hiding and ripped and clawed at every last shred of organ tissue in his chest. It hopped up and down on the spot, it turned green and tore its clothes off so all it wore was a pair of purple shorts, it sang showtunes angrily, but none of the monster's actions took Ginny away from where she was.

"Oh," said Ginny, noticing Harry and Hermione and settling back down again. "I didn't see you there." She forced an awkward laugh.

"Hope you don't mind, Harry, but seeing as it's been seven years since you dated and you haven't shown any interest in Ginny since, I thought I'd take her," said Neville casually. Ginny didn't seem to mind Neville talking about her like she was an old toy, because she slipped her hand inside his silk shirt and it could be seen roaming underneath the fabric.

"Okay!" yelled Harry, startling everyone so much that Ginny jumped and removed her hand from Neville's body. "What, uh… what do we need to do here, Hermione? Maybe we should just do it then and go home."

"Right," said Hermione. Neville led them into his office. He sat behind a large desk and Harry and Hermione took two comfortable green armchairs on the other side of it. Ginny sat on the arm of the chair Harry had chosen, and he had to fight the urge for his hand to sneak up and touch her bum.

"Ron's being a dick, he's pretending to be hurt-" began Hermione.

"Oh, yeah, I was there!" interrupted Ginny. "It was my bag he was carrying actually, and-"

"Yes, well, anyway, he won't leave St Mungo's but he can't afford to stay there, so we were wondering if you could help him out," said Hermione, casting a sideways glance at Ginny.

"Or at least give me some money to blow on hats," added Harry. The discussion that followed was full of Neville nodding and agreeing, while Hermione argued her case and Harry stared at Ginny's behind, which was so close but yet so far.

"Hermione, stop," laughed Neville. "You don't need to prepare a case for me, okay? I was ready to give you any money you needed as soon as you walked in my door. That's what I'm here for! How much do you think you'll need?" Just then, Ron burst through the door. Everyone stared at him standing in the archway for a moment before he held up his arm that bore the bright green bracelet and said,

"Neville, this place is fucking amazing!"

* * *

"Ron, I don't know what's wrong with you," said Hermione angrily as they walked out into the parking lot of The Haven. Harry and Ron had expressed their wishes to stay a bit longer, but Hermione had stamped them out. "That place is disgusting, really, and Neville used to be such a nice boy-" 

"Yeah, before his grandmother snuffed it," said Ron. "Then she went and gave him all her money, and look what he did with it!" He gestured to the elaborate club and laughed. "Good for Ginny, eh? Getting together with Neville, that'll keep her Gringotts vault healthy."

"Yeah, good for Ginny," said Harry through clenched teeth. "Why doesn't she stay with Neville then, instead of moving around between brothers?"

"I expect she doesn't want anyone to know who she's with. I mean, he doesn't really behave like a family man, does he, and your mum is expecting all of you to be married," said Hermione.

"Mum won't care, she_ likes_ Neville, and I'm sure she won't mind his pockets either, full of gold," said Ron.

"Hopeless," Hermione muttered, rolling her eyes.

"So, why did you decide to leave St Mungo's?" asked Harry. Ron's ears turned red.

"I decided I was just going to have to be a man and suck it up," said Ron. It was really because Hermione had gone off duty. "Also I thought I should save you from that dreadful scene that was so bad for the readers and the author is really sorry, she just couldn't think of any other way to introduce Neville." With that being said, they walked home in silence.

* * *

Harry went to work the next day without speaking to Ginny as he strode through the kitchen, where she was sitting in a very short silky nightdress. When he arrived, his day went exactly as they usually did: he had his morning frisk in the janitor's closet with Trixie, he went down to the office, passing people from other departments who respected and revered him, then went to his desk and made prank phone calls to Dudley Dursley (Uncle Vernon had died of a heart attack four years previously because he was such a fat ass, and Aunt Petunia was in a nursing home where she was kept in solitary confinement because she bullied all the other patrons) claiming to be Dracula. Sometimes Harry thought that Dudley really did wear garlic around his neck to school (Dudley was still struggling through university) though he hadn't seen Dudley in six years, except when he was flipping through the Guinness Book of World Records and found him under the Fattest Man Alive category. When he got home again, he walked into the front hall to find Ron and Ginny in a heated argument. 

"You _won't!_" shrieked Ginny, heaving a serving platter at Ron's head.

"Do you wanna bet on that?" he shouted back, ducking.

"I wouldn't if I were you, Ron, you seem to have awful luck with gambling," Ginny retorted. Ron threw a fork at her.

"Hey!" said Harry, stepping into the sitting room where they were fighting. "What's going on here?" he asked. Ginny sat on the couch, pouting.

"I suggested to Ginny that we tell Mum about Neville, and she has a fucking rage!" said Ron over Ginny's protests. "Then she said she was going to go and pack, go and live with Neville, and I said 'Fine, great, Harry and I don't want you here,' but she _doesn't leave!_" Harry looked at Ginny, who stared back at him with fire in her eyes. His monster purred and rubbed its scaly body against his ribs, making Harry smile at Ginny. She must have taken his smile the wrong way, because she scowled and leapt up from the couch.

"Fine!" she said. "Fine, I'm going, this time I really am going! Screw you, Ron! And Harry… fuck you, too!" she stormed into the guest room and emerged soon after with all her bags packed and floating through the air in front of her. She grabbed her coat and the door flung itself open to let her through. She turned around, cast a withering look at Ron, and Disapparated.

"She still likes you," said Ron, sitting down on the brown leather couch. "It's pretty obvious. Too bad you don't like her anymore, right?" he looked up at Harry knowingly. But Harry was determined to convince anyone and everyone that he no longer had feelings for Ginny Weasley.

"Yeah," he said. "Too bad."

* * *

"Mr Potter?" 

"Yes, Trixie?" said Harry, looking up from his desk where he had been filling in all the negative spaces in the letters of a legal document.

"I was wondering… well, I know you have a roommate, and so do I and, well… she's been a little lonely lately," said Trixie, twirling her silver chain necklace around her finger. "So, I was thinking, maybe you and your friend could come to my place for dinner, and you could meet her? I just think, if she had a man-"

"I'll need a picture," said Harry.

"What?" Trixie looked shocked at the request.

"Ron won't come unless you're both hot. I need pictures of both of you to show him. Or it'll just be me… and the two of you… alone… together…" As Harry slipped into a fantastic daydream, Trixie ran off to her receptionist desk and printed off two quick pictures of herself and another very pretty girl. She returned to find Harry with his eyes closed, licking his lips in gnashing his teeth in what could have been interpreted as either sexual ferocity or rabies.

"Here, Mr Potter. Her name's Darla. You can tell Ron she's real easy, if that'll help any." Harry smirked.

"I'm sure it will. Thanks, Trixie." Trixie smiled and looks extremely relieved.

"I'll call on you tonight after work through the fire. 'Bye Mr Potter!" She winked and strode away, her hips swaying as Harry stared at her fine behind. She only called him Mr Potter in the office, during their tangles in the closets and elevators, she called him Harry, or Dirty Harry, or sometimes a word that cannot be spelled but sounded pretty damn hot when she said it.

"Ron, you have a date," said Harry when he got home.

"What?" called Ron from his bedroom. Harry found him there, clipping his toenails. "What do you mean I have a date?"

"Her name's Darla," said Harry, laying the picture down on Ron's bed so he could see. "Her roommate is my receptionist, Trixie." Harry showed him the picture of Trixie.

"Oh," said Ron, raising his eyebrows. "Your bump-buddy."

"Yeah, she's calling tonight, so look good because Darla might be there, too."

"Right," said Ron, and he resumed his clipping festival. An hour later, Trixie's head appeared in Harry and Ron's fireplace. She looked around.

"Oh, Harry, your house is so cute!"

"Thanks," said Harry. Trixie winked.

"So, is Ron around?" she asked, blinking her big, wet, blue eyes.

"Right here!" said Ron as he bounded into the room, wearing his best dragon-skin jacket. "Hi, Trixie, I've heard a lot about you. Where's Darla?" he said, craning his neck. Trixie gave a tinkling laugh.

"Hang on, then," she said, and her head turned around. A moment later, a blonde head appeared beside Trixie's brunette one. Ron's face lit up when he saw her, and Harry knew why. This girl was one of the girls who worked at The Haven, on the magical level of the building, where Harry and Ron sometimes went to without Hermione knowing.

"When did you have in mind?" asked Ron eagerly. Trixie and Darla looked at eachother. Darla looked straight at Ron.

"Now."

Harry and Ron Apparated as fast as they could.

"I'm sorry it was such short notice," said Trixie while she and Harry sat out on the balcony of the girls' two-bedroom apartment after dinner. Ron and Darla were in the sitting room 'getting to know each other'.

"No problem," said Harry, rubbing her shoulders. "I think Ron had a good time."

"I think his time's going to get even better," laughed Trixie. Harry did like Trixie, but never as much as he liked Ginny or even Cho. Trixie was two years younger than Harry, and had been in Ravenclaw. She had thick brown hair that tumbled and twisted itself around her face, with caramel and gold highlights that she'd magicked in herself. Her nose was straight and her lips were thin, but not tight. Her eyes were a little too close together, but they were so big and bright you could barely notice.

"What?" said Trixie, noticing Harry staring at her. Harry shrugged.

"You think they're gonna be a while?" he said, jerking his head toward the inside of the apartment. Trixie looked in through the window and nodded, biting her lip. They sat back on the bench awkwardly, not feeling it would be appropriate to discuss what was going on inside.

* * *

Harry and Ron were both sore the next day, and Harry called in sick to work. The receptionist who answered was not Trixie, so Harry assumed she was in just as much pain as he was, because the balcony wasn't a very comfortable place sit for an extended period of time. Ron was aching simply because he hadn't had the physical stamina required for a night with Darla. 

"It's like an aerobics class," he had said. Somehow, Hermione had heard about their conditions and come over with soup and pillows.

"I was thinking," she said, "that maybe we could all go to Hogsmeade this weekend. Go visit the school, maybe?" Hermione had applied to be the Transfiguration teacher, but Professor McGonagall had not yet kicked the bucket, so she applied at St Mungo's who were ecstatic to have such an accomplished witch. That was why Hermione hated her job so much; it just wasn't _challenging_ enough. She always wanted to go to the school just to see how old McGonagall was getting. Ron and Harry exchanged looks.

"Hermione, please," said Harry. "Give it a rest. McGonagall's not dead yet, and I don't think she's going to croak just because we go to the school."

"Well, Harry, people die all the time when you're around," said Ron. "Your mom and dad, Quirrel, Sirius, Dumbledore, a shitload of Death Eaters have died because of whatever it is you do at work, right?"

"Er - right." Harry wasn't allowed to tell anyone what he did at work, so everyone thought he was right up there with the Minister.

"He's right," said Hermione. "You're like this cosmic death ray that kills everyone it touches."

"Thanks, guys. Thank you, really. Thanks," said Harry.

"Maybe you'd like to go see _Fred_," said Ron bitterly. Hermione shook her head.

"You know, I don't think he's really my type. You were right, Ron, he's so immature." They gazed lovingly into each others eyes, but Harry the amazing Technicolor dumbass didn't notice. He was busy shoving straws up his nose and shouting, "I'm a walrus!"

"You should call Ginny," said Hermione to Harry. Ron looked at Harry and nodded as if you say, 'She's right, you know.' Harry shook his head stubbornly. He still hadn't forgiven Ginny for making his chest monster rip his organs to shreds.

"My pancreas is still healing," said Harry. "Maybe I should wait for that to happen before I see her again." He had confided in Hermione about his bleeding insides on the way home from The Haven that night and she'd fixed him up as best she could, but there were some places she wasn't allowed to touch.

"Well…" said Hermione. "Back to the topic of Hogsmeade, I heard Seamus Finnigan's band is playing there this weekend, that's all."

"Oh, so you fancy Seamus now, is it?" said Ron jealously. Hermione looked utterly taken aback.

"Ron, what are you talking about?" she said. Ron looked at Harry and when he realized his mistake, his ears turned red and he muttered, "Nothing."

"So, what do you say?" urged Hermione. "Yes? Shall we go? Please? I hear they've got this song that's just –"

"Hermione!" said Harry. "Did you hear us? We've just said yes about six times."

"Oh," said Hermione, beaming. "Wonderful."

* * *

Hogsmeade had indeed changed since their school days. The Hogs Head was now The Magic Stick, which was a branch of Neville's company, Longbottom's Ladies. The Three Broomsticks was no longer run by Madam Rosmerta, since she had been arrested for Death Eater involvement two years after Harry's graduation. The pub was now under the ownership of one Hannah Abbott, who had become a drug-obsessed rave girl between the ages of seventeen and eighteen. It was here that Seamus' band, Kelpies & Banshees, was booked to perform. Unfortunately for Hermione, all the rooms at The Three Broomsticks were completely booked for the whole weekend, so Harry, Ron and Hermione were forced to get rooms at The Magic Stick. 

"Oh my god, you guys can't spend the whole weekend here!" said Hermione when she found Ron and Harry in the club for the third time, watching the dancers.

"Why not?" asked Ron, never taking his eyes off the blonde in front of him. Hermione grabbed his face with her hands and shook his head back and forth.

"Ronald, you are a disgusting young man and you know better than to ask me that question," she said angrily. She stormed out of the front door.

"Bloody hell," said Ron, rubbing his face. "You'd think she was angry or something, the way she's behaving." Harry shrugged.

That night was the night of Seamus' performance. As Harry, Ron, and Hermione walked down to The Three Broomsticks, they could hear cheering and screaming from inside. When they entered, the inside had been magically enlarged to fit a thousand witches and wizards. The stage was lit up in purple and there was fake mist all through the barroom.

"Look, there's Lavender!" said Harry, pointing up to a private viewing box. Sure enough, a very pregnant Lavender Brown Finnigan sat, looking thoroughly unhappy with her present situation. Her looks hadn't improved since their days at school. In fact, she'd gone downhill. Down a very big hill. Her hair lay flat against her head and hung down past her sweaty, greasy-looking face. Her eye makeup was smudged and she had an abundance of tattoos on her arms.

"Wonderful," grumbled Ron, looking away before Lavender noticed him.

"I wonder what kind of music Seamus plays," said Hermione casually. "We never really heard him play at school. Did he ever tell you what he did?" Harry and Ron shook their heads, Ron still looking determinedly away from Lavender. Soon, a lone chord sounded and Seamus rose from the floor in the middle of the stage, holding a shiny red electric guitar. His eyes were closed as the note resounded through the massive room. Then, with several loud _crack_s, three other people Apparated on the stage with guitars and drums and a keyboard. What some people might call music began, though there was no definitive beat, and no way of deciphering any actual notes or chords. Then Seamus opened his mouth and began shouting, yelling in a loud, scratchy voice. If he was trying to sing, nobody would have been able to tell, because all it sounded like was someone screaming at the top of their voice, as if they were dying and this noise was the only way they could call for help. Hermione was shouting something at them.

"What?" Harry shouted back, cupping his hand behind his ear.

"It's screamo!" she yelled.

"Fuckin' hell!" shouted Ron. "Not that shit, I thought Seamus was cooler than that!" Hermione shrugged, and walked toward the bar. After ordering a rather strong drink for herself, she tipped it back easily and clenched her teeth.

"This is a waste of a perfectly good night," she said loudly to overpower Seamus' blood-curdling shrieks. Harry and Ron agreed. They walked along the dark street, still able to hear Seamus' screams.


End file.
